Best Friends
by FrozenPanda97
Summary: John and Sherlock have known each other since they were kids. John finally come homes from war and Scotland Yard meets the real Sherlock.
1. How They Met

**Disclaimer : I Do Not Own Sherlock. **

**Chapter One: How They Met **

A ten year old boy called John Watson was sitting in the park, his big sister, Harriet (Harry), aged twelve, was running around and jumping on and off the climbing frame. John, himself, was reading a book. Sure, he loved running and fighting as much as any boy his age would, but he preferred to read a good book. The book he was currently reading affecting his future, as he wanted to be a Doctor of some kind. John wore his favourite jeans, a knitted jumper and a large camouflaged jacket. John looked up from his book when he heard people talking very close to him.

"Sherlock, don't run off to far, you might insult someone and mummy can't get us out of that again - that poor woman, or was it a man?" a teenage boy said a little down from path, he looked to be around fifteen. Even though he was a teenager, the boy wore a suit, and was holding an umbrella. He was holding onto the arm of a ten year old boy, who was wearing jeans, shirt and a jacket, however they looked very expensive. The older boy had hair looked could be mistaken for red in certain light, and it fell down to his neck and covered his eyes while the younger boy had dark curly hair that did whatever it felt like.

"I'll be fine, Mycroft, I was four at the time" said Sherlock as he shrugged off Mycroft's arm and wandered away, knowing full well that Mycroft would keep his very large noise and I-Never-Miss-Anything eyes on Sherlock. Sherlock looked up to see a boy around his age doing something that his mother does all the time. Sherlock could not explain it, but he really wanted to go and talk to this boy.

John,meanwhile, had put his head back into his book and got a scare when the boy from before suddenly appeared beside him, in his personal space, reading the book.

"Yes?" John asked, blinking at Sherlock. Sherlock looked at him, barely glanced up and down before he began to talk.

"Your the son of a Captain in the army. He's home and you and your sister, who is a gay, got sent out the house so that he and your mother can have private time. You want to be a medical man, but you also want to be in the army like your father, so you are thinking of becoming an Army Doctor" Sherlock said, looking at John. John, understandably, was looking at Sherlock, gobsmacked.

"How did you..." muttered John. Sherlock looked down at his expensive trainers, thinking about how to answer without insulting anyone, which he was very well known for doing.

"Easy, you look uncomfortable here, and your wearing a army jacket that is too big on you - your Dad's in the army and has come home. The fact that you are reading a medical book suggests you want to go into medicine, but because you are wearing your father's jacket suggests that your wish to be in the Army, compromise, an Army Doctor" Sherlock said.

"Okay, and what about my sister?" challenged John. He did not see that his sister heard him, and looked over.

"You keep looking at her, and she has the same face - roughly - as you, a sister. And the fact that she has stared at every girl that walks past, over the age of fourteen, suggests that's she's gay, but hasn't told anyone yet as it is only a peek." The sister looked down, very angry.

"That's..." began John, staring wide eyed at Sherlock. Sherlock was back to staring at his feet.

"Irritating, annoying" he suggested with a meek voice, why did Mycroft even suggest to Mummy that Sherlock should go to the park, when they had enough money to buy a park and have it built in the back garden.

"Amazing."

To Sherlock, it looked like the whole world had come to a stand still. He didn't see the way that Mycroft stared at them, wide mouthed, or that Harry looked like she wanted to beat him up. All he could hear was that word. Amazing.

Sherlock looked up at John, and saw that he was telling the truth. John was smiling easily, his eyes were shining. He had no idea that he just basically changed Sherlock's life for ever.

"Your the first person to think that" whispered Sherlock.

"But why, that is amazing. Only difference is that it was my mother who came back from the army" said John.

"There's always something" muttered Sherlock.

"Yeah, but it was a mistake that anyone could make" said John and both boys jumped when he felt his mum's mobile vibrate from his pocket. Sherlock was staring at John as he opened the phone and read the text.

"Harry!" called John as he jumped down from the bench, closing his book once he was down.

As Harry was running over, John turned to Sherlock.

"Meet me here tomorrow" John said to Sherlock. Sherlock blinked.

"You want to be my friend?" he asked, his voice was tiny, he was still in shock after Amazing.

"Yeah, and I can find out more about you" smiled John. Harry stopped across the path from the bench and waited for John to approach him. John found a pen in his mum's pocket, tore a piece of paper from his book and wrote down his number.

"My name's John, John Watson" he said as he handed the note over.

"Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes" answered Sherlock, eyes still wide in shock, hand automatically accepting the note.

"See you tomorrow" smiled John, and he started to walk away with his sister, who stared back to Sherlock, anger in her eyes.

Once John was out of sight, Mycroft appeared beside his little brother, who was still sitting the same position, hand up and eyes staring where John had just disappeared.

"Who was that?" he asked, waking his brother up from whatever state he was in.

"My friend, John" said Sherlock, a smile slowly slid onto his face.

"Do you think he'll be a good friend?" asked Mycroft, sitting down beside his brother.

"He found me amazing."


	2. John Meets The Holmes

**Disclaimer : I Do Not Own Sherlock. **

**Chapter One: John Meets The Holmes'**

Mycroft was a little scared of happy Sherlock. He had seen grumpy Sherlock, sad Sherlock and many negative things concerning his little brother, but he had never see a happy, skippy and hyper Sherlock. They arrived home, and before Sherlock could run off anyone, Mycroft had grabbed his brother's arm and pulled him to their father's study, where both of their parents were doing their own thing.

"Was the park nice?" Sherlock's mother asked from her seat on the study's couch, reading a very thick novel. You could tell where Sherlock had gotten his traits from, while Mycroft had that of his father's.

"Sherlock made a friend" Mycroft said and both of their parents eyes went wide. Mr Holmes stopped writing notes for his work at the government and stood from his chair.

"A friend?" his father asked, he wasn't sure if his son was joking or not.

"Yes, his name is John. He's amazing" said Sherlock and he broke free from Mycroft's killer grip and ran closer to his parents.

"As I said his name is John. I showed him what I could do, and he called me amazing and told me my mistake. He and I plan on meeting up tomorrow. He even gave me his number" and Sherlock held up the piece of paper.

"Darling, you can't go to the park tomorrow, the weather report said that it's raining tomorrow" said Mrs Holmes. Sherlock's face fell.

"However, we could invite him to the house for the day. Marcus can go and get him for us. Just give me his number and I'll phone his mother for you." Sherlock eagerly handed over the paper and ran to his room.

"Will you allow this friendship to continue?" asked Mycroft. He knew his parents had plans for them both, and none of them included a friend.

"It depends on whether this John is good enough for my son" said Mr Holmes.

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Mrs Watson answered her phone the next morning. Her son was still in bed, while her husband and daughter were sitting at the table. They all had light headaches, as John would not stop talking about a new friend he made at the park, Sherlock Holmes.

"Hello" she said while flipping some pancakes.

"Yes, this is Mrs Holmes, I believe my son and your son had plans to meet up today" said the voice on the other line. Mrs Watson blinked. This women had a very distinctive voice.

"I believe so" said Mrs Watson.

"Anyway, the plan was for them to meet at the park. However, due to the rain, I felt that it would be better if John come and spend the day at my house, do you agree?" asked Mrs Holmes.

"I suppose so."

"Good, can we get you address so I can send my driver to collect John. Sherlock will be with him" said Mrs Holmes. Mrs Watson gave her address and hung up.

"Who was it?" asked her husband.

"Sherlock's mother" answered Mrs Watson.

"The freak?" asked Harry. Her parents ignored her. Silence filled the house until a loud banging suggested that a hyperactive ten year old was running down the stairs. Sure enough, John slid into the room, still in his pjs and wearing socks. He hadn't seen the rain yet.

"Mummy, can I go to the park?" asked John, as he sat at the table.

"I'm sorry, darling" said his mum, "it's too wet. But, Mrs Holmes said that you were to spend the day at their house. Are you sure that they are safe?"

"Yes, Mum" said John, "how I am getting to their house?"

"Someone is coming to pick you up. And you won't get to go if you don't eat your breakfast."

Half an hour later, there was a knock at the door and John answered to see a man and Sherlock.

"My mum'll be here in a sec" said John as Mrs Watson arrived.

"Your Sherlock" said his mother.

"Yes Mrs Watson, mummy told me to say thank you for allowing John to come over" said Sherlock. Marcus nodded.

"Yes, he needs to be home by four" said Mrs Watson, she smiled to John , handed him his coat and passed him a mobile.

"Text me every hour" she said as Sherlock pulled John out the house.

"Yes Mum" said John and he allowed Sherlock to pull him under Marcus' umbrella and to the dark car waiting for them.

Marcus was smiling by the time they arrived at the manor. Sherlock seemed like a normal boy the entire ride home. He escorted the two boys to the manor and into the hallway before he left to get something to eat.

Waiting in the hall was Mycroft, who stared at Marcus' smiling face before turning to the two boys.

"Mycroft, John. John, Mycroft" said Sherlock. Mycroft arched an eyebrow at Sherlock's introduction, who kept staring at John. John smiled and shook his hand. Mycroft was getting mixed signals. John was obviously from a middle class family but he fitted in with the upper class establishment.

"Pleasure to meet you" said Mycroft, shaking John's hand.

"You too" said John, taking his hand back.

"Where are Mummy and Father?" asked Sherlock.

"They are in their study, they would like to meet John" said Mycroft. He lead the two boys to the study, knocked and they walked in.

"You must be John" said Sherlock's mother, getting up from a chair and approaching him, slowly taking his small hand in hers.

"Yes" smiled John, "it's nice to meet you."

Sherlock grabbed John's shoulders and started to pull his coat off. John let him.

Mr Holmes bowed his head to John, who smiled back at him. Mrs Holmes took the coat off Sherlock.

"Mummy, can we go to my room?" Sherlock asked. His mother said yes. They last thing they heard as the two boys left the room was:

"So, what could you tell from my mum?" coming from John and Sherlock's laugh.

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They had lunch around one, and Sherlock's mother and father were thrilled that Sherlock had found someone who likes him for being himself. John was certainly bringing the best out in Sherlock.

He got the boy to eat, and that is tick in the cook's book.

Time came too soon and it was nearing four.

"Mummy, can you give John a lift to his house?" Sherlock as his mother while she read the papers.

"Certainly" said his mother, she stood up and the two boys followed her to her car, grabbing John's stuff on their way.

Sherlock and John climbed into the back seat and were talking the entire way there (John had already given Mrs Holmes the directions) and soon pulled up out John's house.

"John, would it be okay if I came in to talk to your parents?" Mrs Holmes asked.

"I'm sure it would be okay" said John and he lead them to his front door. Mrs Holmes knocked and Mrs Watson answered.

"John" she smiled, and she looked up, "you must be Sherlock's mother."

"Yes, I was wondering if we could come in to talk" said Mrs Holmes.

"Of course" said Mrs Watson and she moved to allow them in.

Sherlock and John were sent to John's room.

Their mothers had an hour long conversation, but after that the two boys were inseparable. A spare bed had been moved in both boys room (courtesy of the Holmes). John still went to public school and Sherlock was still home schooled, but instead of John going to his sisters friends house, Mr Holmes was always outside the school, ready to pick John up.

Sherlock was there when John's mother died in the war.

John was there whenever Sherlock's experiments failed - he helped clean up the mess.

As they got older, they seemed to get closer.

Eventually, the time came for John to complete his dream and for Sherlock to looked for his dream.


	3. Goodbye John

**TO BE EDITED **

GOODBYE JOHN

Chapter Three

Disclaimer : I own Sherlock, only joking, if I owned Sherlock there will be more episodes in the series.

* * *

><p>John and Sherlock bought a flat together, a month before John was due to be sent out to war. John is now twenty four. Sherlock is now twenty, and is helping Scotland Yard with their cases - although it is only through phones, Sherlock doesn't want to waste a moment with John.<p>

Sherlock's mum had been friends with a Mrs Hudson from school, and she gave them a flat cheap. Sherlock suspected that his brother paid up the rest. He doesn't care though, he got a nice flat and he shares it with his best friend in the whole world.

John came running down the stairs, after three hours of organising his room.

"Okay, so lets go over this again. We will email as much as possible" said Sherlock.

"I know, you say this everytime you see me. It's become your new hello" said John, Sherlock shook his head.

"I'm really going to miss you" he said.

"I'll miss you too" said John, and he pulled Sherlock in for a hug.

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The month went by really quickly, and John was standing at the airport, in his uniform. Mycroft and Sherlock were standing there, saying goodbye.

"You better write every day" said Sherlock, pointing right into John's face.

John nodded.

"I'll try" he said. Sherlock sighed. He had been preparing for this for years, ever since they met, but he could not think of what to say.

As a laugh, Sherlock saluted, standing tall and straight. Mycroft breathed deeply as John saluted back.

"Mycroft will be paying for my half of the flat until I return. Mrs Hudson has promised to look after you. And I know that DI Lestrange has agreed to start taking you to the scenes. I also understand that you want to keep me a secret, to appear inhuman to them, go ahead, I would love to see their faces if I got back and they realised that you have a best friend" said John.

"Not if, when" said Sherlock, his blue eyes suddenly cy cold.

"What?"

"When you come back, in one piece" said Sherlock.

"Yes, one piece" agreed John, they heard his flight being called for boarding.

"Write you soon" said John. Sherlock smiled.

"Write you soon" he promised. John turned to Mycroft.

"Look after him" and Mycroft nodded. John turned and went to board his plane, but before he turned the corner, John turn to look back and smile.

Sherlock smiled and watched John as he disappeared. Sherlock turned to leave.

"Where are you going?" asked Mycroft.

"I have a letter to write and a decapitation to solve!"


	4. Seven Years Later

SEVEN YEARS LATER

Chapter Four

Disclaimer : I do not own Sherlock.

Seven years have passed since John and Sherlock spent more than two weeks in each others company. Letters were sent almost all the time but to either of the two men it was not enough.

Sherlock stood over a dead body. That was not unusual. He just solved the case. That was also not unusual. The thing that was unusual was his phone got a text. Sherlock has two phones, one for cases - which was always used - and one for his family and friend.

Curious, he lifted the phone from his pocket and saw text from Mycroft.

JOHN BEEN SHOT. NEED PICKED UP FROM AIRPORT IN HALF AN HOUR. MH

"Is this case done?" Sherlock asked, getting many strange looks from the others at the crime scene at his scared but happy face. Lestrange nodded.

"Can you give me a lift to the airport?" Sherlock asked.

"Why?" asked Anderson. Sherlock ignored him and looked at Greg.

"Please" he said.

"Sally can handle the paperwork, c'mon" and Sherlock followed Greg to his car.

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"Why are we here?" Greg asked, as he and Sherlock stood in the airport.

"I'm waiting on someone" said Sherlock.

"Who?" asked Greg. A collection of people were trailing in from a recently landed aeroplane.

"Him" said Sherlock, a smile on his lips and worry in his eyes. He walked away from Greg, and towards a man in army clothes, on a cane and a smile on his face.

Greg watched, shocked, as Sherlock carefully hugged the man before grabbing his bags and slowly walking over to Greg.

"DI Lestrange, this is Captain Jack Watson, John, this is Greg" said Sherlock. John held out a hand and Greg shook it.

"It's nice to meet you" said John as he pulled his hand back, clenched it, unclenched it and leaned a little more on his cane.

"Can we go home now, Sherlock, I'm a little tired" said John. Sherlock nodded and nodded to Greg to lead the way, and with a confused frown on his face, Greg turned and they lead the way out the airport and to his car.

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After helping Sherlock carefully carry a nearly asleep soilder up 221B Baker Street and into his bed. John fell asleep at once, Sherlock carefully removed his shoes and jacket and tucked him in, Greg returned to his office and was attacked by Sally and Anderson.

"Why did the Freak want to go to the airport?" asked Sally, "did he finally realise that no one wants to be his friend and left the country?"

"No" said Greg, staring at Anderson and Sally.

"Well, spill" said Anderson.

"He was collecting a friend, he says" said Greg.

"Sherlock Holmes has a friend?" asked Sally.


	5. Settling In

SETTLING IN

Chapter Five

John woke up the next morning, well rested as he limped downstairs with his cane and collapsed onto his seat. Sherlock looked up from his book and smiled.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Bloody great" muttered John under his breath.

"You were shot in the left shoulder" said Sherlock. John glared playfully at him.

"I know, I was there" said John. He reached into his suitcase, which Sherlock had left downstairs.

"I know you've been through my suitcase, now there was a black book in it, where did you put it?" asked John. Sherlock smiled and pointed to the book in his hand.

"So, you've a therapist?" asked Sherlock.

"Yep, nearly sent me to a home for invalided home soldiers until they realised that I already had a flat" laughed John.

"Their therapist is going to be useless, you know that" said Sherlock.

"Yep" sighed John as he lay back in his chair.

"Lestrade, the man you met yesterday, said that he won't bother me with cases for at least a week, you know, so we can catch up" said Sherlock, rolling his eyes.

"I guess you didn't tell him that us spending quality time together is chasing after a bully in the playground" said John.

"He would not believe me when I say that there is someone out there who is more into the chase than me. I do the brainy things and you did the chasing" laughed Sherlock.

"How's Mycroft?" asked John.

"Irritating" answered Sherlock, "tea?"

"If you offering, I'd say no" said John. Sherlock glared and got up to make some tea.

"Imagine that, war hero Watson survived bombs and bullets, was taken down by a cup of tea" said Sherlock. John snorted.

"Headline papers. I wanna place a bet" said John as Sherlock finished making the tea and handed him a cup.

"What kind of bet?" asked Sherlock, settling down in his chair.

"I can make you famous" said John.

"Alright, if you win the bet, I'll wear any hat you pick out" said Sherlock.

"And if I lose?" asked John.

"I'll think of something" smirked Sherlock over a cup of tea.

John smiled back at him.

And nearly chocked on his tea.


	6. Study In Pink (1)

"How's your blog going?" John's therapist asked, leaning over her clipboard to look at the man across from her.

"Yeah, good, very good" lied John.

"You haven't written a word, have you?" she smiled, she was about to put pen to paper. John stopped her.

"It will pick up soon" he said, thee therapist stopped and looked at her patient.

"My mate's life is insane and starting tomorrow, it'll pick up. I am going to start tomorrow" said John.

"And what does this insane life entail?" asked the Therapist, her eyebrow raised.

"You'll just have to wait and see" smirked John.

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Sherlock sat in the reception chairs, waiting for John to leave his appointment. His phone dinged, and ignoring the glares from everyone else in the room, he checked the text message.

DEAD BODY IN. MH xx

Sherlock smiled and settled back down to wait for John. Five minutes later, John limped out the office, leaning heavily on the cane. He smiled at Sherlock as he stood up.

"There's a new body in the morgue. Do you want to head over?" Sherlock asked as both of them headed out the doctors.

"You get ahead. I need to clear my head, just walk to Barts" said John. Sherlock nodded, smirked and winked and quickly climbed into a nearby taxi. John sighed and stared the half hour walk there.

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John had reached the park near the hospital where he was stopped. Sure, many people stared but John ignored them, he was half ready to ignore the man on the bench who stared at him until he was called by his name.

"John! John Watson! Stamford, Mike Stamford. We were at Barts together." Politely, John shook Mike's hand.

"Yes, sorry, yes, Mike, hello" he said. He really wanted to get back to Sherlock - who was sure to be waiting for him.

"Yes, I know, I got fat" joked Mike, John felt really awkward.

"No, no" argued John.

"I heard you were abroad somewhere getting shot at. What happened?" Mike was trying to make conversation, all John wanted to do was get back to Sherlock before he insulted someone, and made them cry. John wondered how Sherlock survived with him to apologize for Sherlock.

"I got shot," said John bluntly, "are you still at Barts then?"

"Teaching now," explained Mike, "yeah, bright young things like we used to be. God, I hate them. What about you, just staying in town till you get yourself sorted?" They were slowly moving to the bench Mike was sitting at before.

"Actually no, I'm staying with Sherlock at the flat we bought before I left" said John.

"That's great! Where are you heading?" asked Mike.

"To Bart's actually, meeting Sherlock there" said John. He made to stand up.

"Walk you there, I've actually got a lecture later and need to get ready" said Mike. He stood up and they both started to walk there.

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Sherlock was in the lab when John arrived. Mike had left to go and deal with his lecture. John shook his head as he took a seat next to Sherlock.

"So, how's Mike?" asked Sherlock. John didn't even ask how Sherlock knew.

"Fat" commented John, causing Sherlock to snort. He looked up as the door opened and a young girl walked. She was holding coffee.

"Ah, Molly, coffee" said Sherlock as he stood. He collected the coffee, took a gulp before handing it to John.

"What happened to the lipstick?" he asked as he sat down.

"Thought it was too much" said Molly, staring at John in shock.

"Molly, John, John, Molly" said Sherlock as unfolded his jacket.

"Hiya" said Molly, accepting his hand shake.

"Hello" smiled John. Sherlock quickly put his jacket on and his scarf.

"Sorry, we must rush. John and I need to get home, Mrs Hudson is more than likely to discover the thumbs sooner or later" smiled Sherlock. His smile was true, shocking Molly who only saw him smirk.

"You two live together?" asked Molly.

"We have been best friends since we were children" said Sherlock and he walked out.

"Best friends?" muttered Molly.

"It's nice to meet you, don't worry, the shock wears away soon enough" said John and, lifting his cane and limping away, he left the girl standing there.

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"What about these suicides then, Sherlock?" asked Mrs Hudson as the three of them sat in the living room of 221B Baker Street the next day, and Sherlock was looking for a thrill, "I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same."

"Four" said Sherlock as blue an red flashing lights reflecting in the window and he went to look, "there's been a fourth."

"A fourth?" asked Mrs Hudson, her hand over her heart.

"Where?" Sherlock turned and asked DI Greg Lestrade when he ran through the door.

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens" replied the out of breath detective, "will you come?"

"Is there anything different, you seem a little more excited than before, like you just got a big break?" asked Sherlock.

"You know how they never leave notes?" asked Greg. Sherlock nodded.

"This one did."

"Who's on forensics?" asked Sherlock.

"Anderson." To the shock of Greg, Sherlock swore under his breath.

"He doesn't work well with me."

"Well, he won't be your assistant" said Greg.

"I NEED an assistant" said Sherlock then he looked over and John and the two men smirked.

"Will you come?" Greg asked, wondering about the smirks.

"Not in a police car, I'll be right behind" answered Sherlock, looking back at Greg.

"Thank you" said Greg and he ran back out. They waited until they could hear the police car outside drive away. Sherlock then started to jump around.

"Brilliant!" he yelled. "Yes! Four serial suicides, and now a note. Oh, it's Christmas. Mrs Hudson, we'll be late. Might need some food."

"We?" asked Mrs Hudson.

"Yes, myself and John, that is if he is coming with me?" asked Sherlock. He looked at John.

"I need something to put on my bloody blog" said John as he stood up.

"So, about food when we come back..." began Sherlock but Mrs Hudson interrupted.

"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper" she said, her hands on her hips. Both men spoke at the same time.

"Cup of tea'd be lovely." "If it's cold, it's fine."

And the two of them left, Mrs Hudson shouting after them - "not your housekeeper!"

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The police car pulled up at the crime scene. Greg quickly ran out the car and to the police tape.

"Sally, Sherlock's on his way" said Greg as he ducked under the tape. Sally pulled a face.

"Why? A week without, I thought you had finally dropped him" said Sally.

"Yeah, I gave him the week so that he and whoever it was that we picked up from the airport could bond" said Greg.

"Was his apparent friend there, although I still think it was kidnap" said Sally

"Yeah, he was there" said Greg and he walked into the building holding the building.

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Sally saw the taxi pull up and Sherlock climb out.

"Hello, freak!" she called and tried to not stare at a second person climbing out of the taxi, after paying.

"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade" said Sherlock, reaching the tape.

"Why?" asked Sally, narrowing her eyes.

"I was invited" said Sherlock, he raised his head a little.

"Why?"

"I think he wants me to take a look" said Sherlock sarcastic, Sally nearly stopped, since when did Sherlock Holmes speak more human than before.

"Well, you know what I think, don't you?" asked Sally.

"Always Sally," smiled Sherlock, "I even know you didn't make it home last night."

"I don't... Who's this?" Sally had finally given up and asked about John, who was standing next to Sherlock, looking around.

"Friend of mine, Dr Watson. Dr Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan" said Sherlock.

"A friend?" asked Sally, raising her eyebrow. "How do _you_ get a friend? Did he follow you home?" She turned from Sherlock to John.

"Actually, we met at the park and then I followed him home." Sherlock tried to hide his smile.

There was a minutes silence until it seemed that Sally had given up.

"Freak's here" she said into her radio,"bringing him in." As they followed Sally inside, they ran into a sour looking man.

"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again."

"It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?" warned Anderson.

"Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?" asked Sherlock.

"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that" said Anderson.

"Your deodorant told me that" said Sherlock as it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"My deodorant?"

"It's for men."

"Well, of course it's for men - I'm wearing it" said Anderson. John wanted to laugh.

"So's Sergeant Donovan. Ooh... I think it just vaporised. May I go in?" he asked and walked in. John limped after him.

"Whatever you're trying to imply..." the threat fell on deaf ears.

"I'm not implying anything. I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over. And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees" and Sherlock walked in.

"I would say sorry, but seriously?" asked John and he made to go in. Anderson stopped him.

"Who are you?"

John ignored him and just right in.

They made their way, Lestrade meeting them halfway, and after trying to get them into the proper attire for a crime scene, and failing, lead them to the body, telling them her information on the way up.

"Her name's Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards, we're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her." There was silence until Sherlock looked at Greg and said:" Shut up."

"I didn't say anything" said Greg.

"You were thinking. It's annoying" John wanted to laugh, during exam time at school, Sherlock would keep telling John to shut up: muttering under his breath his subjects.

_Sherlock was walking John home from school. John went to the local public school while Sherlock had to go to the private school up the road. Sherlock and John would always meet up and go to John's until eight when Mycroft would pick up Sherlock. _

_"Geography is around eight..." said John under his breath. _

_"Shut up" said Sherlock. John looked at him. _

_"What?" he asked. _

_"Shut up, you're constant muttering is getting irritating" said Sherlock, "we'll work out our exaam timetable when we get in, so we can plan when we will meet up."_

_John agreed but kept going over his table in his head. _

_"Shut up, you are thinking and it is annoying" said Sherlock. John burst out laughing. _

"Got anything?" asked Lestrade.

"Not much" answered Sherlock, as he felt the victims clothes and sniffed his fingers, he also checked her jewellery.

"She's German," said a voice at the door, John turned and saw Anderson leaning against the doorframe,"Rache. It's German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us something..." he would have continued but Sherlock had closed the door in his face.

"Yes, thank you for your input."

"So she's German?" asked Greg. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Of course she's not. She's from out of town though. Intended to stay in London for one night before returning home to Cardiff. So far, so obvious" said Sherlock, running down a list on his phone.

"Obvious?" asked John, Sherlock looked at him and smiled. Greg looked on in shock as Sherlock, without complaining about someone being an idiot, explained.

"Victim is in her late 30s. Professional person, going by her clothes - I'm guessing the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today intending to stay in London one night from the size of her suitcase."

"Suitcase?" asked Greg. Sherlock blinked at him.

"Yes. She's been married at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married."

"Oh, for God's sake, if you're just making this up..." began Greg.

"Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewellery has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. The inside is shinier than the outside. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work, look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands so who DOES she remove her rings for? Not ONE lover, she'd never sustain the fiction of being single for that long so more likely a string of them."

"What about the message though?" asked Greg.

"It's not a message, it's name" said Sherlock.

"Rachel?" asked John. Sherlock smiled and nodded.

"I would like for John to look at the body" said Sherlock.

"We have a whole team right outside" said Greg. He pointed to the closed door.

"I trust John" said Sherlock.

"I'm breaking every rule letting you in here..." began Greg.

"Yes...because you need me" answered Sherlock.

"Yes I do" said Greg, then he looked at John, "go for it."

John slowly lowered himself to the ground, taking gloves out of Sherlock' pocket as he did so. Greg stared as Sherlock didn't even try to stop him. Could they be together?

"Asphyxiation. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure. Possibly drugs" said John, "the suicides."s. The fourth...?

"Sherlock - two minutes, I said, I need anything you got" said Greg from the door.

"I believe I have already explained all I can" said Sherlock.

"I do need the proof" said Greg. Sherlock got a look on his face. John knew that an insult followed by an mind breaking observation.

"Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains, it must be so boring. Her coat - it's slightly damp, she's been in heavy rain the last few hours - no rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her pocket but it's dry and unused. Not just wind, strong wind - too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So - where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time? Cardiff."

"Fantastic" said John, just realising how much he missed this.

"Do you know you do that out loud?" asked Greg.

"Sorry, I'll shut up" said John. Sherlock looked at John.

"It's fine" he said, "now we just need to get her suitcase."

"Why do you keep saying suitcase?" asked Greg.

"Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organiser. Find out who Rachel is" asked Sherlock.

"How do you know she had a suitcase?" asked Greg.

"Tiny splash marks on her right heel and calf not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand, by that splash pattern. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious - could only be an overnight bag so we know she was staying one night. Where is it, what have you done with it?" asked Sherlock.

"There wasn't a case."

"Say that again."

"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase." Sherlock ran to the door, opened it, ignored Anderon and leaned over the banister.

"Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?"

"Sherlock, there was no case!" yelled Greg. He and John stood beside Sherlock on the baniser, who know had a big grin on his face.

"But they take the poison themselves, swallow the pills. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them" said Sherlock.

"Right, thanks. And...?" asked Greg.

" It's murder, all of them. I don't know how. But they're not suicides, they're serial killings. We've got a serial killer. There's always something to look forward to" Sherlock started to run down the stairs but he stopped.

"Why are you saying that?" asked Greg.

"Her case! Come on, where is her case, did she eat it. Someone else was here, and they took her case. So the killer must have driven here. Forgot her case was in the car" said Sherlock.

"She could have checked into a hotel, left it there" argued John.

"No, look at her hair. She colour-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking... Oh... Oh!" Sherlock raised his finger in the air, his face showing happiness.

"Sherlock? What is it, what?" asked Greg.

"Serial killers, always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake" said Sherlock.

"We can't just wait!" yelled Greg.

"Don't then. Take John home! Then find Rachel!" yelled Sherlock as he ran out the house. Greg looked at John.

"C;mon on then" said Greg as he slowly walked down the stairs with John and climbed into his police cruiser.

(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)  
>"So, what's your story?" Greg asked as he drove John home.<p>

"My story?" asked John.

"Yeah, why does Sherlock Holmes seem to like you. I wanna hear it" said Greg. John sighed.

"We met as kids. I was reading a book at the park while my big sister played. Suddenly this boy comes up to me and tells me everything about myself" said John, "we sort of became friends after that."

"Where have you been, I mean, no one at Scotland Yard would expect Sherlock to have a Best Friend. He always seemed to ..." Greg didn't need to finish that sentence.

"Yeah, everyone at school thought it was weird as well. We went to different schools but we would always hang out after school. I was popular, sporty and such and everyone wanted to hang with me but I would always tell them that I was busy" said John, " as to where I have been? I was in the Army. As a doctor. I was shot and sent home."

"We are here" said Greg.

"Oh, see you later" said John as he opened the door, placed his cane on the ground before exiting the car.


	7. Study In Pink (2)

When Sherlock came home, trailing a pink suitcase after him, John was fast asleep on the couch. Sherlock smiled a little, covered John was a blanket Mrs Hudson kept around the flat, glared at the cane -swearing he would get rid of it, picked up John's phone and placed the case down, opened it and started to go through it.  
>After an hour, in which Sherlock had texted the victims phone, recieved a phone call back and clean up a bit, John finally woke up. He groaned and looked over to see Sherlock holding John's coat, already in his coat and trademark scarf.<br>"We're going out" said Sherlock.  
>John struggled up, and took the coat.<br>"Where?" he asked.  
>"I texted the murderer, with your phone, and I have a feeling that he will turn up at a spot I sent. There's a good cafe with excellent view run by someone who owes me, you can get something to eat and I can work on my case" said Sherlock. He walked out, John followed him.<br>"You used my phone?"

They walked to the cafe as it was only a few minutes away.  
>"So what exactly did you say?" asked John. Sherlock looked at him.<br>" 'What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked -two Northumberland Street. Please come' " he recited.  
>"Okay, tricking them, makes sense" said John.<br>"And you found the suitcase" said John, remembering seeing the pink case before they left.  
>"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention – particularly a man, which is statistically more likely – so obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realise his mistake. I checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens, I found it and went straight back to our flat" said Sherlock. John nodded. They arrived at the cafe. Sherlock walked in and took a seat right at the window. John sat down beside him.<br>"Okay, so have you narrowed it down to a possible killer?" asked John.  
>"It's very difficult. His hunting ground is right in the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything. Because all of his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go. Who do we trust, even though we don't know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd? These questions keep going around in my head, but I can't find the answer" said Shelock just as the cafe owner came running up.<br>"Sherlock" Angelo said as he ran up to shake Sherlock's hand, "anything on the menu, whatever you want, free." Angelo lays the menus on the table.  
>"On the house, for you and for your date" said Angelo. Sherlock looks at John. He smiles and shakes his head.<br>"I'm not his date" said John. But Angelo ignored him and wrapped his arms around Sherlock.  
>"This man got me off a murder charge" he said.<br>"This is Angelo, Angelo this is John." Both men shake hands.  
>"Three years ago I successfully proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town, house-breaking" informed Sherlock.<br>"He cleared my name" said Angelo.  
>"I cleared it a bit," corrected Sherlock, "Anything happening opposite?"<br>"Nothing. But for this man, I'd have gone to prison" said Angelo. Sherlock looked at him.  
>"You did go to prison" he said. Angelo stood up.<br>"I'll get a candle for the table. It's more romantic" and Angelo walked away.  
>"I'm not his date!"<br>"And thus the viscous cycle begins all over again" muttered Sherlock, his eyes drifting over to across the road.  
>"Why does everyone seem to think we're dating?" muttered John. Sherlock smiled. Angelo quickly placed the candle on the table.<br>Soon enough, John was eating his meal while Sherlock kept up a light conversation and glanced out the window every minutes.  
>"There" he said in the middle of a sentence, John stopped eating and looked at him.<br>"A taxi has been sitting there for five minutes, no one getting in or out" said Sherlock, "why taxi, why?"  
>"So the killer is in the cab?" asked John, placing his knife and fork down. Sherlock threw some money on the table and stood up, grabbing his coat. Heart pumping, John repeated.<br>When John stood beside him on the pavement, Sherlock glanced down and could've done a dance. The cane was left in the cafe, and John had not even noticed!  
>The taxi drove off. Sherlock began to run, John a foot behind him.<p> 


	8. Study In Pink (3)

Both of them ran through London, chasing a cab through the use of a map Sherlock had memorised as a child. They jumped over buildings and up and down lots of stairs. After many close calls when the cab, they eventually caught it, and Sherlock immediately started to whack it with his hand.

"Police! Open her up" he commanded as he reached the passenger door, and wretched it open.

His face fell.

"No...Teeth, tan. What - Californian...? LA, Santa Monica. Just arrived."

"Explain" said John, standing beside Sherlock

"The luggage" said Sherlock, "Probably your first trip to London, right? Going by your final destination and the cabbie's route."

"Sorry - are you guys the police?" asked the man.

"Yeah. Everything all right?" asked Sherlock.

"Yeah" nodded the man. Sherlock thought for a moment.

"Welcome to London" he said and he ran off.

"Er, any problems - just let us know" said John and he walked to where Sherlock stood.

"Basically just a cab that happened to slow down" he said to the taller man.

"Basically" confirmed Sherlock, both men looked over to the cab to see passenger talking to the actually police.

"Not the murderer" said John, they kept watching the police, who kept glancing in their direction.

"Not the murderer, no."

"Wrong country, good alibi."

"As they go."

"Still nicking stuff when people are being annoying?" teased John

"Yeah" laughed Sherlock, the policeman started to walk over to them, "got your breath back?"

"Ready when you are" said John and they ran away.

(*SHERLOCK - BEST FRIENDS)

_John lay on Sherlock's bed, head hanging over the side as he watched the boy himself work on yet another experiment. _

_"So what is this experiment about?" asked John.  
><em>

_"How long it takes for a maths book to burn" replied Sherlock. _

_"Are you burning your homework again?" asked John, sitting upright. _

_"The teacher no longer accepts the dog ate it. Redbeard enjoys it" said Sherlock. John shook his head and lay back down. _

_He saw that Sherlock had hidden something under his draws, he rolled off the bed, and reached under the draws. _

_John pulled out Mycroft's black umbrella.  
><em>

_"Sherlock" called John. _

_Sherlock hummed. _

_"Why do you have Mycroft's umbrella?" asked John. _

_"He was annoying me" said Sherlock, "kept trying to make me eat."_

(*SHERLOCK-BEST FRIENDS*)

Sherlock ran through the front door of 221, laughing.

"OK...That was ridiculous. That was the most ridiculous thing...I've ever done" gasped John as he hung his jacket up. Sherlock hung his on the banister and both leaned on the wall. .

"And you invaded Afghanistan" laughed Sherlock.

"That wasn't just me. Why aren't we back at the restaurant?"

"They can keep an eye out. It was a long shot anyway."

"So what were we doing there?"

"Oh, just passing the time. And proving a point" smiled Sherlock.

"What point?" John asked, confused.

"You" Sherlock looked at John.

"What point?"

"Ask the man at the door" said Sherlock as there was a knock at the door.

"I hate it when you do that" said John as he pushed himself off the wall and answered the door. Angelo stood there.

"Sherlock texted me" he laughed, "he said you forgot this." And he handed John his cane.

John took the cane and stared at Sherlock, his eyes wide.

Sherlock was talking to a distressed Mrs Hudson. He glanced at John, and ran upstairs.

"Thank you" John said to Angelo, before closing the door and running up the stairs

"What are you doing?" he heard Sherlock ask as he arrived in the flat to see it crowded with police.

"Well, I knew you'd find the case, I'm not stupid" said Greg as he sat in Sherlock's chair. He pointed to the pink case.

"You can't just break into my flat" argued Sherlock.

"You can't withhold evidence - and I didn't break in" said Lestrade as he held up a piece of paper.

"It's a drugs bust."

"Seriously? This guy ..." began John. He saw that Greg was about to interrupt and quickly talked.

"You could search this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational."

"On the bathtub there is a lose tile, he hides it there, checked it this morning. It's clear."

"Why would we believe that?" asked Greg, his face puzzled.

"Shut up! I'm not your sniffer dog" yelled Sherlock.

"Anderson's my sniffer dog" said Greg as if it were obvious. Said man's head appeared from the kitchen. To say Sherlock was furious would be an understatment.

"Anderson, what are YOU doing here on a drugs bust?"

"Oh, I volunteered" sneered Anderson.

"They all did. They're not strictly speaking ON the drug squad, but they're very keen" said Greg. Anderson smirked.

"Are these human eyes?" asked Sally, holding a bag of eyes.

"Put those back!" John grabbed the bag and put it back in the microwave.

"It's an experiment." Greg saw that Sherlock was slowly getting angrier, so he moved it onto the case.

"We're a team" he said. Sherlock glared at him.

"This is childish" Sherlock sulked.

"Well, I'm dealing with a child. Sherlock, this is our case. I'm letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear? We work together" said Greg, standing up.

"What - so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?" said Sherlock. John sat down.

"No, to make you realise that you don't work on your own" said Greg.

"I work with John" said Sherlock. There was a hush on the flat as everyone looked at John. Who was staring at his leg?

"So we all work together. We've found Rachel."

"Who is she?" asked Sherlock.


	9. Study In Pink (4)

"She was Jennifer Wilson's only daughter" said Greg.

"Her daughter?" asked Sherlock, Greg nodded, "why would she write her daughter's name? Why?"

"Never mind that," yelled Anderson from the kitchen, "we found the case. According to someone the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favourite psychopath."

John fought down a laugh, everytime someone called Sherlock a psychopath, he always had to correct them, and he always had a different way of telling them.

"I'm a high-functioning sociopath" winked Sherlock, "do your research. You need to bring Rachel in and I need to question her." John foundit amazing that Sherlock went from fun to professional in one breath.

"She's dead" said Greg.

"Excellent. How, when and why? Is there a connection? There has to be" muttered Sherlock.

"Well, I doubt it, since she's been dead for 14 years. Technically she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, 14 years ago" informed Greg.

"No, that's...that's not right. How...Why would she do that? Why?" Sherlock had started whispering.

"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments?" said Anderson. "Yup - sociopath, I'm seeing it now."

"She didn't think about her daughter. She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort, it would have hurt" said Sherlock, facing Anderson. John stood up and walked over to Sherlock.

"You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it - well, maybe he...I don't know, talks to them. Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow" said John. Sherlock looked at him and considered the possibility.

"Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?" he asked.

A silence filled room, even Sherlock picked up on it. He turned to John.

"Not good?" he whispered. John only sighed. He was used to it and he wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not.

"We have talked about this, numerous times" he sighed. Sherlock only rolled his eyes and decided on his train of thought.

"If you were dying... If you'd been murdered - in your very last few seconds what would you say?" he asked John, looking right into his eyes.

"Please, God, let me live."

"Use your imagination!"

"I don't have to."

Another silence filled the room. Many people filed that information away, they were all trying to figure out who this man who had wandered into Sherlock's life and knew all about him, most of it not even Greg knew.

"We'll discuss that later" warned Sherlock before he turned back to Greg,"however Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers - she WAS clever. She's trying to tell us something." Sherlock started to pace and John moved to stand beside Greg to get out of the way. Mrs Hudson came running upstairs.

"Isn't the doorbell working? Your taxi's here, Sherlock" she said. John tried to remember when he had the door bell go, and he couldn't think of it. Maybe it was actually broken. Or maybe he was caught up in the excitement.

"I didn't order a taxi. Go away" grunted Sherlock. Then he went still.

" Shut up, everybody! Don't speak, don't breathe. I'm trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You're putting me off" he yelled. John nearly laughed at the last comment, he must really dislike Anderson.

"What? My face is?" asked Anderson.

"Everybody quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back" ordered Greg. He, like John, could see that Sherlock was onto something.

"Oh, for God's sake!" grumbled Anderson.

"Your back, now, please!"

"Come on, think. Quick!" muttered Sherlock, pressing his finger into his temples.

"What about your taxi?" asked Mrs Hudson.

"Mrs Hudson!" yelled Sherlock, "oh... Ah! She was clever. Clever, yes! She's cleverer than you lot and she's dead. Do you see, do you get it? She didn't lose her phone, she never lost it. She planted it on him. When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death. She left the phone in order to lead us to her killer." Sherlock ran to his computer (John saw that it was actually his computer but let it slide) and started to type.

"Wha..?" asked Greg.

"What do you mean? Rachel! Don't you see? Rachel! Oh... Look at you lot. You're all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing. Rachel is not a name" said Sherlock as he continued to type.

"Then what is it?" John asked.

"John - on the luggage, there's a label. E-mail address." John made his way to the luggage, sat down on his chair and lifted the tab with the tab with the email on it. He read it out. Sherlock then started to explain.

"She didn't have a laptop, which means she did her business on her phone. A smartphone, it's e-mail enabled. So there was a website for her account. The username is her e-mail address - and all together, the password is?"

"Rachel" finished Anderson, "so we can read her e-mails. So what?"

"Anderson, don't talk out loud. You lower the IQ of the whole street. We can do much more than that. It's a smartphone, it's got GPS. Which means if you lose it you can locate it online. She's leading us directly to the man who killed her."

"Unless he got rid of it" said Greg.

"We know he didn't" said John as he made his way over to the desk.

"Come on, come on. Quickly!" muttered Sherlock as they waited for the laptop to load.

"Sherlock, dear. This taxi driver..." began Mrs Hudson.

"Mrs. Hudson, isn't it time for your evening soother? Get vehicles, get a helicopter. This phone battery won't last for ever" Sherlock said, first to Mrs Hudson then to Greg. He stood up and started to pace again. John took his set.

"We'll just have a map reference, not a name" said Greg.

"It's a start!"

"Sherlock..." muttered John.

"Narrows it down from just anyone in London. It's the first proper lead that we've had" said Sherlock.

"Sherlock..."

"Where is it? Quickly, where?" asked Sherlock, leaning over John's shoulder.

"Here. It's...in 221 Baker Street."

"How can it be here? How?" Sherlock backed away from the computer, feeling confused. His mind foggy as he tried to wrap his head around it.

"Maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it...fell out somewhere" said Greg as he glanced around the floor.

"What, and I didn't notice it? Me - I didn't notice?" asked Sherlock, running his hands through his hair, lightly pulling.

"Anyway, we texted him and he called back" said John.

"Guys, we're also looking for a mobile somewhere here, belonged to the victim..." called Greg to the team.

Sherlock's mind cleared as it all became clear. A man stood at the top of the stairs and Sherlock saw a flash of pink. The man in the shadows turned and walked down the stairs. Sherlock stared after him.

"Sherlock, you OK? What...?" asked John, noticing his friend's change in behaviour.

"Yeah, yeah... I'm fine."

"So, how can the phone be here?"

"I have a theory" said Sherlock as he started to head towards the stairs.

"I'll try it again" said John, pulling the mobile from his pocket.

"Good idea."

"Where are you going?"

"I have a taxi to catch. Send me a bullet later" said Sherlock as he disappeared downstairs, grabbing his coat on the way.


	10. Study in Pink (5)

Grabbing his coat as he left, Sherlock stood in front of the taxi driver as he played about the pink phone.

"Taxi for Sherlock Holmes" said the cabbie, as he looked up at Sherlock through his eyelashes.

"I didn't order a taxi."

"Doesn't mean you don't need one" replied the cabbie. He threw the phone through the open window of the taxi - causing it to land on the passenger seat - and he leaned back into the black cab.

"You're the cabbie" said Sherlock, ignoring the wind lightly pulling at his coat, "the one who stopped outside Northumberland Street. It was you. Not your passenger."

The cabbie clapped.

"See?" he nodded, "no-one ever thinks about the cabbie. It's like you're invisible. Just the back of an 'ead. Proper advantage for a serial killer."

"Is this a confession?" asked Sherlock.

"Oh, yeah. I'll tell you what else... If you call the coppers now, I won't run. I'll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise" chucked the cabbie.

"Why?" asked Sherlock.

"Cos you're not going to do that" grunted the cabbie as he stood away from his cab, opened the back door, and smirked at Sherlock.

"Am I not?" asked Sherlock, an eyebrow raised at the open door.

2I didn't kill those four people, Mr. Holmes. I spoke to 'em...and they killed themselves. If you get the coppers now, I'll promise you one thing. I will never tell you what I said."

"No-one else will die, though, and I believe they call that a result" said Sherlock, raising his chin.

"And you won't ever understand how those people died. What kind of result do you care about?"

"If I wanted to understand...would I have to go with you?" asked Sherlock.

"Just for a little ride" replied the cabbie.

"So you can kill me too?" asked Sherlock.

"I don't want to kill you, Mr Holmes, I'm gonna to talk to you, and then you're going to kill yourself" said the cabbie, he took a step away from the cab, allowing Sherlock to get in, and he slammed the door and jogged to the drivers seat, and drove away. Sherlock looked up at the face looking out from the window of 221B Baker Street.

*SHERLOCK - BEST FRIENDS*

"He just got in a cab...It's Sherlock. He just drove off in a cab" wondered John, as he held the phone away from his ear.

"We're wasting our time!" yelled Sally as she marched out the flat.

"I'm...calling the phone, it's ringing out" John said to Greg.

"And if it's ringing, it's not here" said Greg, with a deep sigh and he ran his hand across his forehead.

"He's just a lunatic, and he'll always let you down. And you're wasting your time. All our time" said Anderson as he followed in Sally's footsteps and left.

Greg and John shared a look.

"What did he mean? About his last comment?" asked Greg.

"What do you mean?" asked John, glancing down at his phone again.

" 'Send me a bullet later' ?" asked Greg.

John eyes went wide.

"It's a friend thing, when we were younger, Sherlock's mum gave us toy guns and to let each other know we weren't safe, we would fire a small ball into the air, we called them bullets as a joke" said John. Greg frowned, before his phone went off and he had to leave. John quickly grab the laptop, his coat and ran outside.

*SHERLOCK-BEST FRIENDS*

"How did you find me?" asked Sherlock.

"Oh, I recognised ya. Soon as I saw you chasing my cab. Sherlock Holmes! I was warned about you. I've been on your website, too. Brilliant stuff! Loved it" flattered the Cabbie. Sherlock stared out the window.

"Who warned you about me?" asked Sherlock.

"Your fan" answered the cabbie.

"Fan? I don't have fans" said Sherlock.

"They claim to be your number one fan" said the cabbie as the pulled up to twin buildings.

"Where are we?" asked Sherlock as the cabbie climbed out the cab and made his way to Sherlock's door.

"You know every street in London. You know exactly where we are" said the cabbie as he opened the door.

"Roland-Kerr Further Education College. Why here?"

"It's open. Nobody's in. One thing about being a cabbe is that you always know the quiet spots. Good for a murder, we should make it into a business" said the cabbie.

"And you just walk your victims in?" and the cabbie pulled out a gun, "dull."

"Don't worry. It gets better" promised the cabbie.

Sighing dramatically, Sherlock got out the cab and followed the cabbie.

"What do you think, after all, you are going to die here" said the cabbie.

"No, I'm not" answered Sherlock as the walked along corridors and into a classroom.

"That is what they all say, time to talk?" asked the cabbie as he pulled out a chair and took a seat, and left the gun lying before him on the table.

"Bit risky, wasn't it? Took me away under the eye of about half a dozen policemen. They're not that stupid. And Mrs. Hudson will remember you."

"You call that a risk? Nah...THIS is a risk. Oh, I like this bit. Cos you don't get it yet, do ya? But you're about to. I just have to do this... Weren't expecting that, were ya? Oh, you're going to love this."

SH: Love what?

Cabbie: Sherlock Holmes! Look at you! Here in the flesh. That website of yours! You are brilliant. You are a proper genius. The Science of Deduction. Now, that...is proper thinking. Between you and me sitting here, why can't people think? Don't it make you mad? Why can't people just think?"

"You a proper genius too" said Sherlock.

"Don't look it, do I? Funny little man driving a cab. But you'll know better in a minute. Chances are it'll be the last thing you EVER know." And he pulled two bottles from his pocket, an identical pill inside both of them.

"Two bottles. Explain" ordered Sherlock.

"There's a good bottle and a bad bottle. You take the pill from the good bottle, you live. You take the pill from the bad bottle...you die."

"And you know which is which?" asked Sherlock.

"Of course I know" smiled the cabbie.

"But I don't."

"Wouldn't be a game if you knew. You're the one who chooses" said the cabbie as he leaned back in his chair, and put his hands behind his head.

"WHy should I?" asked Sherlock, "what's in it for me?"

"I haven't told you the best bit yet. Whatever bottle YOU choose, I take the pill from the other one. And then together...we take our medicine. I won't cheat. It's your choice. I'll take whatever pill you don't. Didn't expect that, did you, Mr. Holmes?"

"This is what you did to the rest of them - you gave them a choice?"

"And now I'm giving you one. You take your time. Get yourself together. I want your best game." the cabbie leaned forward onto the desk.

"It's not a game, it's chance" argued Sherlock. He, too, leaned forward onto the desk.

"I've played four times. I'm alive. It's not chance, Mr. Holmes, it's chess. It's a game of chess, with one move...and one survivor. And this - this...is the move. Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle? You can choose either one."

*SHERLOCK-BEST FRIENDS*

"No, Detective Inspector Lestrade - I need to speak to him. It's important. It's an emergency. Er, left here, please. Left here..." said John, and he held his phone between his ear and shoulder, his laptop in his arms.

And a gun tucked into the back of his jeans.

*SHERLOCK - BEST FRIENDS*

"You ready yet, Mr. Holmes? Ready to play?" taunted the cabbie.

"Play what?" asked Sherlock, " it's a 50:50 chance!"

"You're not playing the numbers, you're playing ME. Did I just give you the good pill or the bad pill? Is it a bluff, or a double bluff? Or a triple bluff?"

"It's still just chance."

"Four people, in a row, it's not chance" said the cabbie.

"Luck" muttered Sherlock.

"It's genius!" yelled the cabbie,"I know how people think. I know how people think I think. I can see it all like a map inside my head. Everyone's so stupid, even you. Or maybe God just loves me."

"Either way, you're wasted as a cabbie. So...You risked your life four times just to kill strangers? Why?" Sherlock clasped his hands under his chin and peered at the cabbie.

"Time to play."

"Oh, I am playing. This is my turn. There's shaving foam behind your left ear. Nobody's pointed it out to you. Traces of where it's happened before, so obviously you live on your own - there's no-one to tell you. But there's a photograph of children. Their mother's been cut out. If she'd died, she'd still be there. The photograph's old, but the frame's new. You think of your children, but you don't get to see them. Estranged father. She took the kids, but you still love them and it still hurts. Ah, but there's more. Your clothes. Recently laundered, but everything you're wearing is at least...three years old? Keeping up appearances, but not planning ahead. And here you are on a kamikaze murder spree. What's that about? Ah...Three years ago. Is that when they told you?"

"Told me what?"

"That you're a dead man walking."

"So are you."

"You don't have long, though. Am I right?"

"Aneurism. Right in 'ere. Any breath could be my last."

"And because you're dying, you've just murdered four people."

"I've outlived four people. That's the most fun you can have with an aneurism."

"No... No, there's something else. You didn't just kill four people because you're bitter. Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator. Somehow, this is about your children."

"Oh...You are good" said the cabbie, raising an eyebrow and leaning back in his chair.

"But how?" Sherlock leaned back in his chair and he drummed his fingers on the desk.

"When I die they won't get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs" explained the cabbie.

"Or serial killing."

"You'd be surprised."

"Surprise me."

"I have a sponsor."

"You have a ... what?" asked Sherlock.

"For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill...the better off they'll be. You see? It's nicer than you think."

"Who'd sponsor a serial killer?"

"Who'd be a fan of Sherlock Holmes? You're not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There's others out there just like you, except you're just a man. And they're so much more than that" said the cabbie, a smile on his face.

"An organisation...?"

"There's a name, that no-one says. And I'm not going to say it either. Now, enough chatter. Time to choose."

*SHERLOCK - BEST FRIENDS*

The taxi holding John stopped and John ran out, throwing money into the cab, laptop under his arm, running into one of the buildings.

*SHERLOCK - BEST FRIENDS*

"What if I don't choose either? I could just walk out of here" smiled Sherlock.

"You can take a 50:50 chance, or I can shoot you in the head. Funnily enough, no-one's ever gone for that option" said the cabbie, raising the gun to Sherlock's head, right between his eyes.

"I'll have the gun, please."

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely. The gun."

"You don't want to phone a friend?" asked the cabbie.

"John would tell me to go with the gun" said Sherlock.

The cabbie fired, and a small flame apppeared. Sherlock smirked.

"Would this John want you to be shot?" asked the cabbie.

"Actually, John and I both can tell a real gun from a fake gun. And if anyone tries to hurt me, they get hurt by him. And that is a warning" said Sherlock. The cabbie laughed.

"He has no idea where we are" said the cabbie.

"Which one's the good bottle?" taunted the cabbie, reminding Sherlock of why they were there.

"Course" shrugged Sherlock, "it was child's play."

"Well, which one, then? Which one would you have picked? Just so I know whether I could have beaten you. Come on! Play the game. Oh! Interesting. So what do you think? Shall we? Really... What do you think? Can you beat me? Are you clever enough...to bet your life?" WHile he was talking, Sherlock grabbed a bottle and took the pill out, holding it between two fingers. The cabbie stood, and took the other pill.

"I bet you get bored, don't you? I know you do. A man like you. So clever. But what's the point of being clever if you can't prove it? Still the addict. But this...this is what you're really addicted to. You'll do anything...anything at all, to stop being bored. You're not bored now, are ya? Isn't it good?" And then the cabbie goes flying back, a gun shot echoing through Sherlock's ears and a hold in the cabbie's shoulder. Sherlock throws away the pill and leans over the cabbie.

"Was I right?"asked Sherlock,"OK... Tell me this. Your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me, my fan. I want a name." The cabbie shook his head so Sherlock pushed down on the cabbie's wound.

"You're dying, but there is still time to hurt you. A name!"

"MORIARTY!" screamed the cabbie, as he breathed his last, and died.

Sherlock removed his leg just as the sound of police sirens were heard.

"Well, I did warn you."


	11. Study In Pink (6)

The next things would've been a blur for a normal person who had just witnessed someone die, but not Sherlock Homes, who calmly walked out the room and, when walking past the police, told them where the body was. He was "kidnapped" - as Sherlock had later told John - by the paramedics, forced into the back of an ambulance and covered in a shock blanket. He was sitting there for ten minutes, after many attempts at the getting the cursed blanket off his shoulder, when Lestrade walked over to him, laughing.

"Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me" asked Sherlock after the paramedic put it back onto his shoulders.

"Yeah, it's for shock" informed Greg, as if Sherlock did not know that.

"I'm not in shock" said Sherlock.

"Yeah, but some of the guys want to take photographs" chuckled Greg. Sherlock looked and saw that some of the police officers did in fact have their mobile's out and were snapping pictures of him. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"So, the shooter. No sign?" asked Sherlock, wanting to be sure.

"Cleared off before we got here. But a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him, but...we've got nothing to go on" said Greg, glancing down at his empty notepad.

Sherlock smirked.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that."

"OK" sighed Greg, "give me."

"I can't. Sorry" said Sherlock, glancing around.

"Sorry?" asked Greg, staring at the fact that Sherlock did not want to show off.

"Yeah, I made a promise. Anyway, you done with me?" said Sherlock, staring at Greg before standing up.

"Where are you going?" asked Greg and he pushed Sherlock back down onto the ambulance.

Suddenly John appeared around the side of the ambulance and leaned casually against where Sherlock sat. He smiled at Greg.

"He's coming with me" with a smile at Sherlock.

"How did you get on the scene?" asked Greg.

"Bribed Sally" said John. Greg looked at him.

"With what?" he asked.

"Told her that the sooner I get to Sherlock, the quicker he will leave" said John. Sherlock stood up, gladly dropped the shock blanket to the dirty wet ground, and started to walked away with John.

"I've still got questions" yelled Greg, he was ignored, "Sherlock!"

"Detective I just want to go and get dinner, and besides you said so yourself, I am in shock. And I just caught you a serial killer... More or less" said Sherlock turning around.

"OK. We'll pull you in tomorrow, both of you. See you" and with that, Greg turned his back and walked back towards the crime scene, where the body of the taxi driver was being removed.

"Good shot, you've gotten a lot better" said Sherlock as they walked.

"I know. Through that window. Quite a distance too" replied John, "I'll need a new gun."

" A birthday present, and we need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don't suppose you'd serve time for this, but let's avoid the court case. Are you all right?" asked Sherlock. He stopped John and grabbed his best friend's shoulders.

"Yes, of course I'm all right" said John, looking right into Sherlock's eyes.

"Well, you have just killed a man" said Sherlock.

"Yes...That's true, isn't it? But he wasn't a very nice man" said John and he smiled. Sherlock smiled and let go of John. They stared at each other.

"No. No, he wasn't, really, was he?" muttered Sherlock as they both began to walk again.

"Frankly, a bloody awful cabbie" smiled John.

"That's true, he was a bad cabbie. You should have seen the route he took us to get here" said Sherlock. They both began to laugh, getting many stares from the people working there.

"Stop it! We can't giggle, it's a crime scene. Stop it" said John, glancing around.

"Well, you're the one who shot him" answered Sherlock.

"Keep your voice down" whispered John, looking around again. Sherlock smirked.

"No."

"Hey, guess what Sherlock slept with for the first ten years I knew him?" yelled John. Sherlock went a little red.

"Alright, I'll shut up" he whispered. They chuckled again.

"You were going to take that damn pill, weren't you?" asked John.

"Course I wasn't. Biding my time. Knew you'd turn up" answered Sherlock.

"You're an idiot" smirked John. Sherlock looked at him innocently.

"Dinner?" he asked.

"Starving" answered John.

"End of Baker Street there's a good Chinese" said Sherlock.

"I know" said John. They saw a black car in the distance with a man holding an umbrella.

"It stays open till two" said Sherlock, pretending to have not noticed the man, however, he did stop walking.

"Seriously? It was only twelve the last time I was there" said John.

"Do you know how to tell a good Chinese from a bad Chinese?" asked Sherlock.

"No how?" asked John.

"You can tell a good Chinese by the bottom third of the door handle" said Sherlock, as he saw the man out of the corner of his eye start to walk toward him.

"Sherlock... fattie at twelve o'clock" muttered John.

"Here we go" said Sherlock as he turned to face his big brother.

"Another case cracked. How very public-spirited. Though that's never really your motivation, is it?" said the man as he stopped in front of the two friends. Who stared at him, innocent expressions plastered on their faces.

"What are you doing here?" asked Sherlock.

"As ever, I'm concerned about you" replied the man, coldly.

"And?" asked Sherlock, staring back the man.

"Always so aggressive" sighed the man,"did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?"

"Oddly enough - no."

"We have more in common than you'd like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer. And you know how it always upset Mummy."

"I upset her? Me? It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft."

"You two and your mother" sighed John. He began to walk over to the car. The two brothers followed. They were still talking as they went.

"John, you know mummy asked you to call her mummy, you are practically family" said Mycroft.

"Putting on weight again?" asked John. Sherlock, believe it or not, snorted.

"Losing it, in fact" said Mycroft.

"Delightful" said Sherlock and they stopped right beside the car.

"He's your brother" said John. Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"I'm still waiting on DNA proof" answered Sherlock.

"Seriously?" asked John.

"No, Mycroft wouldn't let me" sighed Sherlock. Mycroft shook his head.

"Are you hiding something Mycroft?" asked John, playfully, "could it be that you aren't actually related. You look nothing like your parents."

"Oh for goodness sake" sighed Mycroft.

"What is wrong, is the British Government upset?" teased Sherlock.

"I occupy a minor position in the British government" stressed Mycroft, like he had said this too many times before.

"You are the British government, when he's not too busy being the British secret service or the CIA on a freelance basis. Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home, you know what it does for the traffic" said Sherlock and he walked away.

"See you later, Mycroft" said John and he began to walk away.

"Yes, of course. John?" said Mycroft. John stopped and turned to face Mycroft.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Welcome home" nodded Mycroft.

"Thank you" said John.

"You two look good together, announcement soon?" teased Mycroft, his face straight as ever.

"Oh, go and rule the country" said John, "OK. Goodnight." John started to run to catch up with Sherlock, who was waiting with a taxi.

"Goodnight, Dr Watson."

"So, dim sum. Mmm!" said John as he climbed into the taxi beside Sherlock. The taxi drove away.

"I can always predict the fortune cookies" said Sherlock.

"No, you can't."

"Almost can."

"What, you practiced?"

"What about the one telling you that ..." stared Sherlock.

"Lucky guess."

"I never guess."

"Yes, you do. What are you so happy about?" asked John.

"Moriarty."

"What's Moriarty?"

"I've absolutely no idea."

"Sir, shall we go?" asked Mycroft's assistant when she saw that her boss was still staring after the cab.

"Interesting, they got straight back into the way they long as they stay away from my umbrellas. We need to upgrade their security. Grade three."

"Sorry, sir - whose status?"

"Sherlock Holmes, and Dr Watson."


	12. Questions

Greg wondered at John Watson. Who was the man that Sherlock never mentioned but was supposed to be a key part of Sherlock's life? Why had no one ever really talked about him?

And why did he know about Sherlock's drugs?

Greg was thinking all this the morning after the case of the Cabbie Killer. Sherlock was sitting across from him, texting on his phone and ignoring Greg.

Suddenly, Sherlock locked his phone and put it into his pocket.

"You have questions" he said to Greg, giving the man his full attention.

"Yes" said Greg.

"About John" said Sherlock. Greg stayed silent and Sherlock took that as a yes - Greg's body lanuage was screaming yes.

"Go ahead" said Sherlock, he tilted his head up and leaned back into the chair.

"Who is he?" asked Greg.

"Captain John Hamish Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers."

"Who is he to you?" asked Greg.

"My best friend."

"Why?"

"Because John Watson is the first person - outwith family - to accept me for being me. He stayed with me through thick and thin and I trust him with more than my life, but to be able to hold a loaded gun to my head and not shoot with I am being rude." Greg pulled a face.

"John made a comment about how you and his sister never got on ..." probed Greg. Sherlock sighed and pulled a face.

"Harriet Watson overheard me and John at the park the day we met and was insulted when I told John that she was gay. We didn't find out that she had overhead until she ran into John's room one day and told me that I was wrong, that I was a freak and that there was no way she was gay. She realised I was right the day she met Clara in her last year of High School. She still doesn't like me. Also, Mrs Watson believed that her children should fight out their arguments on their own, so that they could stand up for themselves when they are older. Harriet often called me a freak, and John always yelled at her" explained Sherlock. Greg shook his head. Mrs Watson had weird beliefs about her children. It's a wonder that their fights did not turn violent.

"I overheard John on the phone, telling Mycroft that he pay the rent on the flat himself. Could you explain that?"

"When John was in the army, he sealed his account, so that the money would not be harmed. The money he got from working in the army was sent into my account. He never explained that. So John asked Mycroft if he could pay his half of the rent until he returned home and could sort out his money and so forth. When did you see John on the phone?"

"Erm, but you told me that you had bought the flat so why should you have to pay rent?"

"You don't want me to know when John was on the phone. Alright, I'll just ask him myself. About the rent, we still had to pay Mrs Hudson to clean certain area's of the flat. Pay for food, electricity, internet and so forth so we named it rent to make it sound nicer."

Greg nodded, it made sense and he could understand why John would freeze his accounts until he needed them again. Banks sometimes cannot be trusted.

"Why did you do drugs then, you've never given me a straight answer so I assume that it has something to do with John?" asked Greg.

"I started to do drugs during college. Almost at once, John, being a medical student, knew that there was something wrong at once but he could not figure out what drug it was. Then one day, when I was at one of my lectures and John was at my place, he searched everywhere. He found it in the bathroom. He kept trying to help me keep clean but I kept falling back onto my little habit so John has taken it has a hobby to check the bathroom, and my room for the drugs. When he was away, I fell hard, I missed him. But he had put Mycroft onto my case so he fixed it. I'm clean. I hope to never see the look of disappointment on John's face ever again."

Greg nodded and looked down at his desk. Sherlock just stared at him, waiting for Greg to realize that he had no more questions.

"I will think of more questions" said Greg, pointing at Sherlock. Sherlock nodded, he stood, fixed his coat

"Tea?"

"Actually, why are you so addicted to tea? It seems like a normal thing" said Greg as Sherlock walked out. He only yelled one thing back.

"Blame John."


	13. The Blind Banker (1)

John was glaring at the spawn of Satan. Oh how he wished he had his gun on him. He could shoot this cheeky, useless escuse which haunts the modern day society. Sighing, John tried to get his mind away from his number one enemy and thought about what Sherlock could be doing. He was either reading a book or sword fighting a random person who appeared in the flat and the attempt to hide the evidence. John was leaning toward the second option.

Then his enemy spoke:

"Card not authorised. Please seek alternative methods of payment." Moaning, John grabs his car and just walks out the shop.

Oh how he hated shopping!

He arrived bac in time to see Sherlock try to rearrange himself into his chair to make it apppear that he had not moved from that spot.

"Where's the shopping?" asked Sherlock.

"I got into a very violent fight" said John.

"With who? Or should I say with what?" asked Sherlock. John threw his head back.

"Was the check out machine being mean again?" asked Sherlock.

"How was the sword fight?" asked John, grabbing his laptop and taing his chair.

It was time to try online shopping.

"Agree to never speak of this again?" asked Sherlock, dragging the sword from under his chair and holding it up to the light.

"Certainly" said John, clicking onto the tesco website, "can I borrow your card?"

"Certainly" said Sherlock and he threw hs wallet at John, who caught it in one hand.

"Any new cases?" asked John.

"Yes, actually, you nearly finished?" asked Sherlock. John clicked a couple more time, filled in the needed information.

"Yep" said John, and both men stood up, grabbed their outdoor wear and left, catching the taxi.

O-o-O

"What would you think of me getting a job?" asked John as they rode to a bank.

"It's your choice, but make sure you will still be able to help with my cases" said Sherlock.

"Part time, them, and a understanding boss?" asked John. Sherlock at him and nodded.

"And it goes back to the normal way" said Sherlock. John looked at him and frowned.

"The normal way?" he asked.

"If youu meet a girl and I don't like her, I'll tell her" said Sherlock. John just rolled his eyes.

"And if you do like her?" he asked.

"She'll be the one for you" said Sherlock as the taxi pulled up at a expensive looking building and they climbed out.

O-o-O

Sherlock lead John through the glass door, up an escalator, and to a receptionist. As Sherlock walked, John looked around. They were natural colours everywhere, technology and bright, digital clocks showing times across the world.

"I'm here to see Serbastan Wilkes" said Sherlock, "my name is Sherlock Holmes." The receptionst quickly phoned through to said man, and she nodded to Sherlock and John to head on through.

Sebastain was there to greet the duo as they arrived at his office.

"Come on in" smiled Sebastian. They got into his office and he closed the door. John and Sherlock took their seats in front of the desk while the man sat behind his desk.

"Sherlock Holmes! he grinned. John wanted to hurl.

"Sebastian" answered Sherlock, nodding his head a little.

"How are you, buddy? How long's it been? Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?" asked Sebastian. Sherlock nearly rolled his eyes.

"Do you remember my friend, John Watson?" asked Sherlock. John wanted to punch Sebastian, he hated the old drug dealer.

"Of course I remember, tiny little man who followed you around like a lost little puppy. What have you been up since I last saw you?" asked Sebastian.

"Shooting people" answered John, tilting his head a little. Sebastian falted a bit, causing Sherlock to smile.

"What?" asked Sebastian.

"You are doing well yourself. Spending lots of time abroad" said Sherlock.

"Some..." muttered Sebastian.

"Flying all around the world. Twive a month even!" said Sherlock. John smiled.

"Are you doing that thing? He does this really weird thing where he..." Sebastian started.

"I know. I have know him for most of my life" said John. Sherlock smirked.

"I observed, that is all" said Sherlock.

"Go on, tell me" said Sebastian.

"Do you really want to know?" asked Sherlock. Sebastian nodded.

"Why did you want to see us?" asked Sherlock. John chuckled. Sebastians face fell.

Sebastian relunctantly stood up and gestured to them to follow through the cubicles.

"I'm glad, you could make it over. We've had a break in" explained Sebastian. Noises were coming from all directions, phones ringing and voices talking.

Sebastian leads them to a darkened corner office, with a glass front.

"This is the office of Sir Williams. He was the former chairman. His room had been left here, you know, as a memorial" he opened the door with a electric key, "someone broke in here late last night."

"What did they steal?" asked John.

"They only left a little message" explained Sebastian as he flicked on the lights, which took a while to switch on, and a painting of a man was hanging on the wall, yellow paint decorating his face. One thick line went across the eyes of the former chairman and

On the wall below the artist has left his tag. An illegible scrawl was there. It was an signature.

Sebastian then lead them to the security room, where they watched the footage from last night. The camera is designed to take a picture every sixty seconds. In the footage, the three men can see the portrait. Sebastian leaned forward and froze the shot at 11.34pm. The paint was present. Glancing at Sherlock, he flicked back to 11.33pm to show that they were no paint. A couple more times, he flicked until Sherlock told him to stop.

"That is a gap of sixty seconds. Somehow,someone came up here in the middle of the night, did some artwork and escaped, all in the space of minute" said Sebastian.

"How many ways into that office?" asked Sherlock.

"That's where this gets really interesting" said Sebastian "every door that opens in this bank, it gets logged right here. Every walk-in cupboard. Every toilet" and he pointed to the screen, where they were given a view of multiple areas of the bank.

Sherlock eyes moved rapidly across the screens.

"That door didn't open last night?" asked Sherlock, pointing at a screen.

"There's a hole in our security. Find it and we'll pay you. Five figures" said Sebastian, shaking his head.

Sebastian reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cheque.

Both men rolled their eyes at the cheque, John took it though.

"That was only an advance. Tell me how he got in, there will be a much bigger on in the way" teased Sebastian.

"I don't need incentives, Sebastian" said Sherlock and he left. John nodded and left, leaving Sebastian to stand by himself.

Sherlock arrives back at the scene of the crime.

"Can you take some pictures of the portrait, while I go find out who the message was for" said Sherlock, throwing John his mobile and leaving. John sighed, and did as he ask.

Sherlock, meanwhile, appeared to be dancing through the desks and workers. He moves gracefully between desks, pillars and gawkers, trying to keep the sight of the portrait in his eyes.

Finally, Sherlock found the perfect spot to be able to see the portrait and the message.

Turning, Sherlock turned to face the sigh.  
>Hong Kong Desk Head. Turning, Sherlock smiles and goes to get John.<p>

Sherlock and John walked out of the bank, and instead of getting a cab, decided to walk to nearby restaurant.

"Okay, how did you know about his holidays?" asked John. Sherlock smiled, he always felt safe to tell John his deductions. He once attacked Sebastian for laughing at him.

"His watch,"started Sherlock, "the hands on his watch were  
>correct but the date was wrong. It actually said the day before yesterday. He crossed the dateline twice, and didn't alter his watch. I knew that had done it within a month as he had New Rolex. Only came out in February."<p>

Sherlock smiled when John smiled at them, and they continued walking.

"That graffiti was a message, John. For someone at the bank - working on the trading floor. We find the intended recipient and..." started Sherlock.

"He'll lead us to the person who sent it" finished John.

"Obviously."


	14. The Blind Banker (2)

_Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. _

**Best Friends  
>14) The Blind Banker (2)<strong>

"Well, there's three hundred people up there. Who was it meant for?" John asked as he followed Sherlock down a busy road.

"Pillars" was all Sherlock said as he looked around.

"What?" John asked confused.

"Pillars and the screens" explained Sherlock, "very few places you can see that graffiti from. That narrows the field considerably. And of course the message was left at eleven thirty-four last night. That tells us a lot."

"Does it?" asked John. Sherlock gives up on looking for a restaurant, (all the ones here sold tomato, and John's allergic to tomatoes, which could be mixed in with the other foods there), and goes into a store, grabbing a sandwich for John, and water for both of them.

"Traders come to work at all hours. Some trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night. That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight" said Sherlock as he joined the cue for the line, he put his shopping into one hand and gave John a piece of paper which held a name and address.

"Not many Van Coons in the phone book" Sherlock joked as they handed the shopping over to the check out boy.

* * *

><p>John quickly eats the sandwich in the taxi while Sherlock keeps the water in his pockets as they head to the address, which turns out to be in a block of flats.<p>

Sherlock presses the button marked Van Coon. He presses twice more, before frowning.

"So what do we do now? Sit here and wait?" asked John, staring at his friend, as he stared at the list of names. Sherlock's eyes stopped in a name, before he took a step back, calculated the building and smirked at John.

"Just move in" he explained as he points at a name which has yet to be properly place there, and was written on a bit of paper.

"What has that got to do with anything?" asked John.

"In the flat directly above Van Coon, is a someone who just moved in" said Sherlock, "someone named Wintle who would not know the people in the building yet."

"Go for it" sighed John as Sherlock pressed the button.

"Hello?" a woman's voice asked. Sherlock got into character while John just rolled his eyes. Sherlock turns to a camera and smiles.

"Hi, I am so sorry, but I live in the flat right below you, and I, I haven't introduced myself yet" said Sherlock, acting nervous. He grins.

"Oh, I just moved in" said Ms Wintle, "I haven't talked to anyone else in the building." Sherlock's eyes were smug as he looked at John.

"I've actually, god this is so embarrassing, but I seemed to have locked myself out of the building" said Sherlock, nibbling at his bottom lip.

"Want me to buzz you in?" asked Ms Wintle.

"Yeah, that would be great, also, can I use your balcony?" asked Sherlock as the door opened.

"What?"

* * *

><p>Sherlock appears hanging over the edge of Ms Wintle's balcony as she fell into her bed, blushing at the flirty man who just jumped from her balcony to the one underneath. Sherlock was lucky that she had a boyfriend who she was faithful with or the plan to get into the flat would've failed. Sherlock found Van Coon's balcony unlocked so he lets himself in. He walks across a very nice living room, which show that Van Coon is a very wealthy man, and after a quick glance, Sherlock enters the kitchen. He opens the fridge to find it full of champagne, and front door buzzes.<p>

"Sherlock!" calls John from downstairs, and as Sherlock passes the door to the bathroom, he buzzes John in.

Sherlock opens the bathroom and sticks his head in to find a small bathroom, with only a few items on the shelves. He closes the door and approaches a larger one, which is locked. Sherlock rams to the door open with his shoulder and nearly falls in. He looks around the first thing he sees is a man lying on his back, on the bed. The man is dressed in a suit and his jacket and has a hole in his right temple. The pistol which had created the hole lay on the floor.

John calls from the flat, see Sherlock standing at a door, and peers over his shoulder. He then dialls 999.

A while later the flat is full of police. A police photographer is taking pictures of the body, others are dusting for fingerprints and voices scatter in the air. Sherlock himself was in the bedroom, looking around, John was holding his coat.

"Do you think he lost money or something? Or was it even a suicide?" asked John.

"What makes you think it wasn't suicide?" asked Sherlock.

"I know you to well, and if it were suicide, you would've found a reason already whether it be a wife or kids or something. And suicide victims are more than likely to leave a note or something behind, and we would already be looking for dinner, and my own instinct" said John. Sherlock smiled.

And went back looking around the room.

Sherlock sees the suitcase, and bends down to get a closer look at it, opening it.

"Been away three days, according to the laundry" Sherlock said. He sees that there is a deep indentation in the clothing, and he looks up at John. John understands at once.

"I am not going through a dead guys used underwear, whatever it is, I believe you" said John. Sherlock chuckles and stands up.

"Something heavy was hidden in here, there is a deep indentation" Sherlock told him.

"Why do you think the graffiti was put at the bank? Where he could see them?" Sherlock asked them.

"You said it was like a message? So a code" guessed John.

"Well done. It was a code, for the deceased, a warning of his death" said Sherlock.

"Well, why not send him an e-mail?" asked John.

"Think it through" said Sherlock as he approached the body and began to inspect the shoes.

"If it was a warning, he would not have wanted to answer" said John as Sherlock started to undo the jacket.

"Anything else?" asked Sherlock, digging through the pockets.

"Well, comparing it to myself, I hate answering threatening bills. Oh wait, you think he was being threatened?"

"Very good" said Sherlock, "and the group that were threatening him, and eventually killed him, even have a symbol, and he pulled out a small black origami flower from the mans mouth, where it had been jammed.

A man's voice echoes from outside of the bedroom, and Sherlock groans as he drops the flower into a evidence bag. The man walks into the room and he glares opening at Sherlock.

"Hello Sergeant, do you remember me? Going by the glare, I'd say you do, and that was deduction even you could make" said Sherlock. Sherlock holds out his hand and the Sergeant slaps it away and he puts it on his hips.

"Yes, of course I remember who you are. That case me and Lestrade had to work together and you kept contradicting everything I said" said the man.

"And I was right Sergeant" said Sherlock.

"It's Detective Inspector, and please do not tamper with the evidence in this suicide case" replied the Detective Inspector.

"Not a suicide, and is Lestrade on his way?"

"No, and you have to call me Detective Inspector Dimmock, not Dimmock, or I will kick you off the crime scene. And what do you mean that it is not a suicide?"

"It is as it sounds, this man was murdered" said Sherlock, and he pointed to the body.

"No he wasn't. He shot himself with that pistol and dropped it when he fell" said Dimmock.

"You've got a solution that you like, but you're choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn't comply with it" said Sherlock and he walked out of the room and into the living room.

"Like?" asked Dimmock, following him.

"The wound was on the right side of his head" said Sherlock, John appeared beside him again and Sherlock took his coat back and put it on.

"And?" demanded Dimmock, going a little red in the face.

"Van Coon was left-handed" said Sherlock like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Sherlock then pretends his left hand is a gun and attempts to shoot himself in the right side of his head. It looked very awkward.

"Requires a bit of contortion" said Sherlock.

"Left handed?" asked Dimmock.

"The evidence is all over this flat" said Sherlock and he faced the flat.

"The coffee table is on the left hand side of the table, coffee mug handle pointing to the left. Power sockets are used on the left hand side, pen and paper on the left hand side of the phone. Do you want me to continue?" asked Sherlock.

"Nope" said John, "I think he got the hint."

"But he is an idiot, unlike us, so there's a knife on the breadboard with butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left" and Sherlock nodded smug. John sighed and lowered his head.

"It's highly unlikely that a left handed man with shoot himself in the right side of his head" said Sherlock, "conclusion: someone other than me broke in here and murdered him. Only explanation of the facts."

"But the gun?" asked Dimmock.

"He was waiting for the killer, due to a warning he got at the bank, he knew that he had been threatened."

"What?" asked Dimmock.

"Today at the bank, sort of a warning" said John.

"He fired a shot when his attacker came in" said Sherlock.

"And the bullet?" asked Dimmock.

"Went through the open window" said Sherlock as he slipped on his gloves

"Oh, come on! What are the chances of that?" yelled Dimmock.

"Wait until you get the ballistics report" Sherlock called as he and John left, "the bullet in his brain wasn't fired from his gun. I guarantee it."

"But if his door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?" Dimmock yelled as he ran after the new men.

"You're finally asking the right questions" Sherlock yelled back.


	15. The Blind Banker (3)

_Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. _

**Best Friends  
>15) The Blind Banker (3)<strong>

Sebastian was entertaining some clients as they had lunch and laughed at each others jokes. So naturally, Sherlock interrupts him and doesn't even feel guilty about it. John just seems smug.

The two men walk into the posh looking restaurant, and walk right up to the table. Sherlock doesn't even wait for the conversation to stop before he starts to talk.

"It was a threat" he said directly to Sebastian, who went a little red, "that's what the graffiti meant." The table shuts up as the guests stare in shock at the stranger.

"I'm kind of in a meeting" said Sebastian, embarrassed, "can you make an appointment with my secretary?"

Sherlock just takes a seat at the table and gracefully takes a sip of someone else's water.

"I don't think this can wait" said Sherlock, "sorry. One of you traders was killed."

"What!" yelled Sebastian and he stood up to stare down at Sherlock. Who blinked at him.

"Van Coon" John informed, "that police are at his flat, investigating."

"Killed" whispered Sebastian.

"Sorry if we destroyed this meal for you, how do I get in contact with you secretary since you feel that this is unimportant" Sherlock stood up.

"Or even better, you can come to Scotland Yard and have this discussion with one of the inspectors there" said John. Sebastian signals for the two men to follow him and he took them to the bathroom, where he splash some water onto his face. Then he just stares at himself.

"Harrow. Oxford. Very bright guy. Worked in Asia for a while so..." Sebastian started to explain.

"You gave him the Hong Kong accounts" John finished for him. Sebastian nodded.

"Lost five million in a single morning and Eddie made it all back up a month later, he had nerves of steel" chuckled Sebastian.

"Who'd want to kill him?" asked John, Sherlock leaned closer to Sebastian.

"We all make enemies" shrugged Sebastian as he dried his face and hands.

"You don't all end up with a bullet through your temple" said John, crossing his arms.

"Not usually" sneered Sebastian, who felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and pulled it out to read the text message he'd just received. He sighs in relief and turns to face the two curious detectives.

"My chairman" he explained, "the police have been on to him. Said it was suicide." He raised an eyebrow at Sherlock.

"They've got it wrong" whispered Sherlock, "he was murdered."

"I'm sorry, but the police don't see it that way, and nor does my boss" said Sebastian.

Sherlock and John stared at each other.

"I hired you to do a job" said Sebastian, stopping whatever John was about to say, "don't get sidetracked." Sebastian lifted his chin and left.

John turned to Sherlock and smirked.

"And here's me thinking all bankers were heartless bastards" he said. Sherlock snorted.

"Anyway, need to get home, I have a job interview tomorrow, and you need to go to your mind palace" said John.

"Yep, and remember our deal concerning a job" said Sherlock.

"I know, I remember" said John as they quickly ran to get a taxi.

* * *

><p>John sat across from the woman who was interviewing him for a position on her staff as one of the doctors. She was reading his CV, while checking him out in the corner of her eye.<p>

"If you do work here, the work may seem a little boring to you" said the girl, placing the CV onto her desk.

"That is fine" nodded John.

"You're a little overqualified."

"Sarah, I need the money" said John, "and I want to get back to helping people my way."

"Your way?" asked Sarah.

"Yes, my way - it's a long story" sighed John.

"You could tell me about during a date, tomorrow night" said Sarah.

"But, your interviewing me, is that even allowed?"

"I'm the boss, what do you say?"

John stared, wide eyed.

* * *

><p>Sherlock sat back in his chair looking at his collection of evidence he had collected while John was at his interview. His eyes kept shifting from one picture to another as he tried to get his brain to co-operate with him.<p>

There was a slam of a door downstairs, and John came running up.

"I asked you to pass me a pen" said Sherlock. John dug into his pockets, pulled a pen from his pocket and handed it over.

Sherlock nodded his thanks and John went to make tea.

"Sarah asked me to go on a date, tomorrow night. I said yes" John called from the kitchen.

"She still has to pass my test" said Sherlock. He grabbed his laptop and started to type quickly.

"I know, I know" said John, running in with two cups of tea, one of which he placed before Sherlock and sipped at the other one.

"Here" said Sherlock, passing John the laptop "have a look." John put down his tea and grabbed his laptop. Sherlock grabbed his tea.

" 'Intruder Can Walk Through Walls' " read John.

"Yep, a journlist killed by a gun shot wound to the temple, doors and windows were locked" nodded Sherlock.

"You think...?" asked John.

"He's killed another one. The two cases are connected."


	16. The Blind Banker (4)

_Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. _

**Best Friends  
>16) The Blind Banker (4)<strong>

Scotland Yard was opened planned, and many people had place weights on their papers to stop them from flying away due to the fans that had to be swiched on thanks to a hot summer Britain was going through.

Dimmock sat in his office, sulking on the visitors chair as Sherlock sat behind his desk, typing away at his computer while John is leaning over him, reading aloud from the screen.

"Brian Lukis. Journalist. Freelance. Murdered in his flat. The door locked from the inside" he was saying. Sherlock nodded.

"They are both seriously similar" he said.

"But they are not connected. They are both suicides" said Dimmock. Sherlock glared at him, and John was glad that he though to lock the door and lower the blinds to save Dimmock from being embarrassed at work.

"Do you still seriously believe that Eddie Van Coon was just another city suicide?" asked Sherlock, "You checked with ballistics, I suppose?" The Inspector nodded, "The shot that killed him wasn't from his own gun?"

"No" sighed Dimmock.

"The investigation would move faster if you took my word as gospel" Sherlock sat up straighter, staring straight into Dimmock's eyes - which were wide with shock. He glanced up at John, who smirked and shrugged.

"I have just handed you a murder inquiry. We might have a serial killer. I need five minutes in that flat" he pointed at Dimmock.

* * *

><p>The flat was covered in dust, piles and piles of books lined the walls and snapped police tape hanged from the door frame. The corner of the room held an empty suitcase which was opened. John stands beside the dead man's desk, which is littered by handwritten notes and more books. Sherlock is looking out the window.<p>

"Fourth floor" he mutters, "that's why they think their safe. Put the chains on the door and bolt it shut. They think that they are safe." Sherlock tries at the window to find that it is bolted. He glances up and see's a sky light.

"They never consider that there is another way in."

"I don't understand" said Dimmock, arms crossed.

John hands Sherlock a broom as Sherlock jumped on to a table. He pointed to a chair, which John placed onto the table, Sherlock climbed on top of the chair.

"What on earth are you doing?" asked Dimmock, standing closer.

"We're dealing with a killer who can climb" said Sherlock.

"What?" yelled Dimmock.

"The murder can cling to the walls like an insect. That is how he can get in" said Sherlock, balancing on the chair and nudges the skylight with the broom, it opens. Sherlock smirks and jumps down from the tower he created.

"He climbed up the side of the building, ran across the roof and jumped in through the skylight" Sherlock explained.

"You're not serious" said Dimmock. Sherlock looked at him.

"He scaled a six floor balcony in Docklands to kill Van Coon, and he got into the bank across the window ledge to the terrace" said Sherlock, taking a deep breath. He looked at John, "we need to find out what it is that connects these two men." John nodded and the two men began to look the journalists belonged. John found a letter from the public library, which he showed Sherlock.

* * *

><p>Sherlock and John quickly walk through the library, in Sherlock's hand was the book that the letter was about.<p>

South East Asian Politics.

"Lukis worked here, the date in the book is the same as the day he died" said Sherlock.

"So we're here to investigate the books" said John.

"In the foreign section of the library, yes" said Sherlock. They both start looking at the spine of the books, the titles.

John pulled the first book on Asian Religion he finds, and he freezes.

"Sherlock" he calls, and Sherlock runs over. He sees the symbols from the bank on the front over of the book. He lifts the book from the shelf and makes his way over to talk to someone.

* * *

><p>Sherlock stood back from his evidence wall. He had put more photographs onto it. Sherlock stared at each photo as he brain attempted to find connection between the two men<p>

"So, the killer goes to the bank, leaves the threat for Van Coon, which causes him to panic and go home, locked himself in and then be discovered hours later wwith a bullet hole in his head." Sherlock turned to John, who stood next to him.

"The killer find Lukis at the library, writes the threat onto a book, which is seen and causes Lukis to run home, locked himself and get killed" John finished.

Both men stare at the photos.

"I want to know the why, why did they die?" said John.

"We need to translate the threat, see what it actually means" said Sherlock. John hummed and handed over one of the cups of tea he was carrying.

* * *

><p>John quickly walked after Sherlock through Trafalgar Square.<p>

"The world runs on codes and ciphers, John, that million pound security system at the bank, the pin machine you took exception to, cryptoraphy inhabits our every waking moment" Sherlock quickly said and John puts it down to his experience that he was able to keep up.

"Yes, okay, but..." John started but Sherlock seemed to be on a roll.

"But's its all computer genertaed. Electronic codes and ciphering methods. However, this is different, it's an ancient device, that modern day code breaking cannot unravel."

"Where are we going?" John asked.

"I need advice" said Sherlock and he stopped when John had stopped suddenly and his hand was covering his mouth.

"What? Sorry?" laughed John.

"You heard me perfectly. I am not saying it again. And I will never be saying it again" said Sherlock, starting to walk again. John quickly walked to catch up.

"Advice on what exactly?" asked John.

"A painting, I need to talk to someone about a painting" said Sherlock.

"What has a painting got to do with this?" called John as Sherlock walked past the National Gallery and into a side alley.

"And now where are we going?" asked John, walked quickly at Sherlock's side, "Sherlock?"

Sherlock smirked as they pulled up at a teenager who was decorating the side of the building.

"Part of my new exhibition" said RAZ, smirking at Sherlock.

"Interesting" said Sherlock, looking at the picture of police officer with a pig face.

"It's called Urban Blood Lust Frenzy, like it?" RAZ turned to John.

"Catchy" said John, taking the spray can handed to him by RAZ, after putting gloves on.

"I've got two minutes, Community Support Officers comes round that corner" said RAZ, accepting the phone from Sherlock.

He flicks through the photographs and glances back up at Sherlock.

"Know the author?" asked Sherlock, looking down at RAZ.

"I know the paint. Looks like Michigan, hardcore propellant. I'd say zinc" said RAZ.

"What do you know about the symbols? Recognize them?" asked Sherlock.

"It's not a tag, I'm not even sure that it is proper language" shrugged RAZ.

"Two men have been murdered, this is the key to solving it. But only if I can get it translated" said Sherlock, pointing at his phone.

"And this is all you've got?" asked RAZ, scoffing.

"You think you could help out?" asked John, finally dumping the spray can into the bag he could see.

"I can ask around" shrugged RAZ. Two Community Officers turned the corner to see a bag of empty spray guns and an insulting picture.

But nobody was there.

* * *

><p>Sherlock cocked his head, staring intently at the pages of evidence he had pinned onto his wall. He had printed all kinds of language from the internet, and none of them matched the yellow paint. John was sleeping upstairs, having run all the way home and John's leg still sore from war, he took some pills and went straight to sleep.<p>

Sherlock sat down on the couch, placed his palms together and went to his mind palace.

* * *

><p>Sherlock and John quickly walked out of the flat, pulling their jackets on.<p>

"All his personal effects will be impounded" said Sherlock as he flagged a taxi, "get hold of a diary, or something that will tell us his movements."

John nods as a taxi pulls up and opens the door.

"And what will you be doing?" he asked his best friend.

"I'll go and see Van Coon's PA... if we retrace their steps, somewhere they're going to coincide" said Sherlock as he handed John some money and ran away. John climbed into the taxi.

He checked the driver, and said "Scotland Yard, please."


	17. Chapter 17

**There are three bad words, and one offensive word and for them, I apologize to anyone who is offended. **

* * *

><p>The desk is bare, only littered with a few magazines and a computer. Sherlock looks down at Amanda, the PA of Van Coon is typing away at the computer, trying to pretend that Sherlock isn't watching her. She scratches her hair, which is being held back by a little green hair pin. She quickly types in the password and Van Coon's calendar popped onto the screen. It shows a three day trip to Dalian.<p>

"Flew back from Dalian on Friday" said Amanda, "looks like he had back to back meetings with the sales team." She prints off his calendar and hands it to Sherlock.

"What about the day he died? Can you tell me where he was?" Sherlock asked, looking down at the calendar.

"Sorry" sighed Amanda, "there's a bit of a gap. On a computer screen - a large blank space in an otherwise crowded calendar." Amanda thinks for a moment before her eyes widened with an idea.

"I've got all his receipts!" she said as she ran to her desk and grabbed a folder filled with receipts.

* * *

><p>Detective Dimmock and John were standing together in a room and Dimmock was muttering to himself as he looked through a box of evidence. He stopped muttering and raised his head to look at John.<p>

"Your friend..." he started but John interrupted.

"Whatever you want to say, go for it" said John. He crossed his arms as Dimmock removed himself completely from the evidence.

"He is an arrogant sod" said Dimmock before he turned back to the evidence.

"Oh" said John, surprised, "that was mild. People have said a lot worse." "Worse?" asked Dimmock.

"Yep, when you're friends with a man like Sherlock since childhood, you built up a vocabulary for insults. I've heard things like Fag, Loser, Dickhead ... you know" said John. Dimmock came back up holding a pocket diary. He passed it to John, who opened it and started to look through it.

"That was what you were looking for?" Dimmock asked. John nodded. The diary was actually packed but John managed to find a plane ticket. The airport name Dalian is printed on it.

* * *

><p>Amanda allowed Sherlock to use her desk as he had lined up all of Eddie's receipts on top of her notes. They included taxi receipts, meal receipts, bus receipts and train receipt. Sherlock stared at them all and tried to build up an image of who Eddie was. He was posh. The restaurants weren't cheap.<p>

"What sort of boss was he, Amanda?" Sherlock asked the assistant. Amanda blushed.

"He's wasn't appreciative. He had a big price tag though, liked expensive things." Sherlock sees the expensive hand cream on her desk.

"Like that hand cream. He bought that for you, didn't he?" Sherlock asked and Amanda's face went pale. Sherlock shuffles the receipts and reorders them. Amanda brushes a lock of hair from her face.

"Look there" said Sherlock as he picked up a receipt from the pile, "he took a cab from home the day he died. Eighteen pounds fifteen."

"That would get him to the office" said Amanda.

"It wasn't rush hour. Check the time. Mid- morning. Eighteen would get him as far as ..." started Sherlock. Amanda put a finger to her chin as she tried to remember what he boss did that day.

"The West End," she remembered, "I remember him saying." Sherlock frowns and finds a train ticket among the tiny sheets of paper. He checks the date.

"Underground, printed at one. In Piccadilly" he muttered.

"So he took a tube back to the office" shrugged Amanda. Then she thought for a moment : "Why would he take a cab into town - then take the tube back?"

"He was delivering something heavy" said Sherlock, "he didn't want to lug a package up the escalators."

"'Delivering'?" asked Amanda.

"To somewhere near Piccadilly station. Left his package and walked back to the tube" said Sherlock, spotting something in the pile of paper, quickly lifting it up and inspecting it closer. It was a receipt from a sandwich shop.

"Hang on. Look at this one" Sherlock showed the receipt to Amanda, "he stopped on his way. He got peckish."

* * *

><p>Sherlock stared at the street sign and down to the slip of paper he held in his hand. Both said "Shaftesbury Avenue". Sherlock turned his back on the train station and walked down the street. He stared at every shop as he passed, trying to get read until he bumped into someone. He went to tell that person to watch where they're going until he saw who it was.<p>

"Have you eaten today yet?" John asked, closing the book he held in his hand. Sherlock rolled his eyes and dragged John into a nearby cafe all the while, he was saying: "Van Coon brought a package here the day he died."

* * *

><p>Once John had bought himself a ham sandwich and bought Sherlock a bottle of water. He split a corner of his sandwich and forced Sherlock to eat it.<p>

"Whatever was hidden inside that suitcase. I've managed to piece together his movements using scraps of information. I've found records of his credit car bills and receipts. He flew back from China and came here and delivered something somewhere in this street. Somewhere close. I don't know where."

"That shop across the road" said John, pointing to the shop. Sherlock sat up straighter.

"How can you tell?" Sherlock asked. John passed him the diary and Sherlock started to flick through it.

"Lukis' diary" explained John, "he was here. He wrote down the address."

Sherlock stood up and left the cafe. John smirked to himself and followed.

* * *

><p>They quickly cross the street and enter the Lucky Cat. The shop had a golden cat which waved as everyone walked past, inside was really dusty.<p>

Sherlock glanced to the counter.

"No till" he muttered, "just an old metal cash box. A few coins and no notes."

He and John shared a look.


End file.
